


The exception

by LittleTurtle95



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Character Study, Everybody Lives, First Kiss, Fix-It, Greg House Being an Asshole, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Suicide, James Wilson (House M.D.) Lives, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 08, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22196557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleTurtle95/pseuds/LittleTurtle95
Summary: "They talked aboutafter, sometimes. Wilson likes to suggest activities that won’t require an ID that House should try after he’ll be gone.Gone, what an hypocrite word.House knows it’s going to happen soon and this is killing him for the second time, only this time it’s not a formality on papers, this time it’s real, real like an heart attack or a stroke could be.The third time will be final."When House thinks Wilson is getting worse but in the end it's the opposite.
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 173





	The exception

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm rewatching this masterpiece and I had to metabolize everything that's happening to this poor souls. The best way to do so is posting a fix-it, so here we are.  
> This fandom deserves more fanfictions, that's bad, I have to add more n.n
> 
> If you find that I write the same line more than once and I'm repetitive, it's on purpose. It's House hyperfixiating on the same things over and over again.  
> If you find that annoying, I'm sorry.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The ball is hitting the ceiling with a distinct rhythm.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

It’s the first time in three months he’s doing this. Wilson finds it annoying and he doesn’t want to annoy him.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

But Wilson isn’t here now.

Thump. 

Thump.

He catches the ball with his hand and squeezes it. He can’t think straight.

Gregory House, head of Diagnostic at PPTH, valued medical genius, formally dead, is sitting down in his hotel room, with a weight in his chest that if he wasn’t perfectly aware what it was for, he’d call the paramedics in fear of an incoming heart attack.

His mind immediately goes to the day before, when he was sitting down in that same spot on the couch after dinner, Wilson’s head on his shoulder, his hand caressing Wilson’s hair while they silently watched _Monster Trucks_ on TV.

It has been a normal day in their life, another day pretending big C doesn’t exist. They’d been travelling for three months and they never talked about Wilson’s illness even once.

They talked about _after_ , sometimes. Wilson likes to suggest activities that won’t require an ID that House should try after he’ll be gone.

 _Gone_ , what an hypocrite word.

House knows it’s going to happen soon and this is killing him for the second time, only this time it’s not a formality on papers, this time it’s real, real like an heart attack or a stroke could be.

The third time will be final.

They never talked about big C even once, except for the day before. They were watching _Monster Trucks_ , House was at least a bit comforted by the weight on his shoulder and the hair under his fingertips, when Wilson had said “I’m going to the hospital tomorrow”

And House’s world stopped. 

His hand flew back on his lap as he tensed. 

“The hospital? Why so?” he asked, trying to control the worried tone in his voice, desperately wanting to sound casual.

His friend had tilted his head and looked at him, those deep dark eyes never failed to amaze him even when they had purple circles underneath.

“I’m the oncologist, trust me. I’m going to the hospital tomorrow”

“Okay” he whispered, and immediately got back to what he was doing, leaning a bit closer this time, his fingers lingering a bit longer every touch. If Wilson noticed, he didn’t say it.

And now he is alone, in his hotel room. _Their_ hotel room. He takes _their_ mobile phone from his pocket – they share everything at this point, mostly because they want to feel the closeness, officially because nothing can be under House’s name at the moment – and makes an anonymous donation to the oncology department of the one hundred and tenth hospital on his list. 

He hasn’t decided why oncology, if it’s for Wilson’s illness or for his job, his children, the ones he loves the most. Maybe both. 

It’s not like he is going to need that money after Wilson’s gone.

 _Gone_. 

_Hypocrite_.

He is waiting and he knows there’s nothing more he can do. 

House had the impression Wilson was getting better the past few days, but he knew it wasn’t possible. He knew what his bestfriend had was fatal. Probably thymoma was like this, it made you think you were getting better and then it killed you. House didn’t know. He never cared about cancer before.

“Cancer’s boring” he had said so many times to his friend.

With cancer there was no mistery, no puzzle.

Patients could either get better because the doctor got them on time, and the ways to heal them were always the same, or they died because it was too late.

Live or die.

 _Boring_.

If only he could find it still boring now.

That’s it. That’s how his world falls to pieces. 

Because Wilson noticed something’s wrong when House didn’t, and now he’s in the hospital alone to hear his colleagues tell him he’s going to die soon.

And he can’t even be with him because he formally died. And if he gets caught he’s gonna spend in jail at least ten years and he doesn’t have ten years, he doesn’t have ten months either.

 _“Cancer’s boring”_ he thinks again, and thinks that maybe if he really had cared before, if he really had known something about cancer, if he really had studied it, maybe he would’ve found a way to help his friend.

Because he is clever. He is intelligent. He is a genius, like people like to call him often.

And maybe if he focused his life on finding ways to cure cancer, he’d found them. Maybe.

But he didn’t. Because it was boring.

And now he feels like he’s going to die.

The pain he’s feeling in his chest is almost blinding, he’s not sure if he remembers how to breath.

Love is like this sometimes. Losing a loved one is scientifically established to be like feeling physical pain. 

House is no stranger to physical pain, but nothing could ever compare to this, not even his leg in the he worst days.

And if God existed he’d know how much Wilson is a loved one.

He loves him so much that all the muscles in his body are screaming.

And he’s waiting.

Because Wilson left to go to the hospital and he couldn’t be with him.

Because he felt something was off.

Because he’s an oncologist, unlike House.

House thought he was getting better. Idiot.

And that means it’s true, it’s happening, even if they pretend it’s not.

He hears a click and the door slids open. 

James Wilson, head of Oncology department at PPTH, three times husband, ex member of the hospital’s board, the only person he cares about and probably he ever truly cared about in his life is looking at him like a dead man.

How did he mange to get thinner in a few hours? And older? And weaker?

“Hi sweetie, did you miss me? How are the kids doing?” he asks smirking, and House feels the urge to strangle him, because it’s not funny, it’s not funny at all.

But he doesn’t do it, what he does is standing up quickly, immediately regretting it as the leg starts to hurt, a dull ache that fades immediately compared to the one in his chest.

He remembers when he had to break his hand to forget about the pain in his leg. Now he doesn’t have to. 

Maybe this was the solution all long. The agonizing pain over the long excruciating death of the only person he has ever loved that makes his leg pain feel like a mosquito bite in comparison.

“How did it go? You look like sh-” he tries to say like he doesn’t care, but he doesn’t get to, because he finds a pair of shaking hands cupping his face and soon his best friend’s lips are on his own. 

He blinks a few times before everything in him quickly resettles. 

He can feel Wilson’s lips against his and after am of shock, he closes his eyes and reciprocates as fiercely as he can.

The pain in his chest somehow gets stronger, heavier and yet he can barely feel it.

Everything he can feel is Wilson.

Now, _that_ was the solution all along. The best one. The one that makes him feel alive for once.

He cups the base of his neck and they both open their mouths at the same time, always in sync, always the same urges, and their tongues collide, moans melting togheter.

He feels Wilson’s hands move on his shoulders, squeezing them as he groans in the kiss, and he whines desperately trying to get closer, even if it wouldn’t be possible. 

Some moments later they part, exhausted, gasping for air.

When House’s eyes focus on Wilson again, he realises he never saw him more clearly before.

“Wow. Okay. Okay” he whispers, looking at him like it was the first time.

He looks ill, and tired, and old, and so incredibly thin and weak but he has the usual Wilson eyes, and his smirk, and House knows there’s no better sight in the world.

“I’m not going to die”

House hears him say, and instantly frowns.

Because the weight is on his shoulders again.

And now he has much more to lose.

He feels like he’s going to scream.

“It isn’t funny” he says, a little too harsh than intended. “It’s not Cinderella, true love’s kiss doesn’t wake you up from the dead”

The man in front of him laughs. “That was Snow White, you know. Not Cinderella”

And House can’t decide if he wants to kill him with bare hands or kiss him again.

“This is so not funny, Wilson”

“I’m not joking. I’m not going to die. Probably. Or maybe I am. Well, everybody dies. I will too. But maybe, probably, not in two months”

House stays silent for a moment. Because he can’t just dare to hope such things. He can’t just dare to believe Wilson is going to live and then see him die in his arms, he can’t do this.

“James, I swear, if this is not…”

“I went into remission. I noticed something was going on a few weeks ago but I wanted to wait before I told you. I didn’t want to give you hope only to disappoint you later”

House parts his lips slightly. He’s starting to believe it, to really believe it and Wilson is right, he is an open book for him, he wouldn’t give him false hopes like that. He would keep all to himself untill he was sure, to protect him like he always did. It makes sense.

“As soon as we got here in Arizona I looked for the nearest oncology center and told you I had to go have a visit. And they actually visited me. It’s getting better. It’s really getting better, Greg! I’m not going to die, not this time!” 

“Is… is that even possible?”

“It is unlikely but yes, it is possible. Let’s say it’s an exception. I look like shit, as you gently pointed out earlier, because I already started treatment. And it sucks. And I’ll need a lot of help, I won’t be able to take care of myself-”

“You’re not going to die”

“Mh-mh” Wilson says, shaking his head, and House’s lips are on his again, and his back is on the wall, and House’s tongue is in his mouth, and his hands are everywhere, and-

“Okay, okay, stop” he pants, and House immediately freezes and steps back. 

“I’m sorry” he says, and the look he gives him, with uncertainty and fear, and something more too Wilson can’t quite recognise, makes his breath stop for a moment.

“I’m just tired” he apologizes. “And I’ll probably be sick in a few minutes. I need to sit down” he groans, and scratches his head.

House is fast, too fast for the sake of his leg, but he helps his friend to sit on the couch and then lets himself fall down next to him.

“You’re not going to die”

“I’m not. I’m sorry if I hum, jumped on you earlier”

“Oh, yes. I feel terrible. I’m traumatized. Don’t you see? It’s not like I was aching to do that since I spotted a fucking kicked puppy at a convention in New Orleans. I’m going to blackmail you, if you don’t pay I’m reporting you”

“Really? And what do you want from me to be silent?” he asks, with an half smile

House furrows his brows in fake concentration. “I think ten minute per day with my ball on the ceiling with no complaints and one vicodin prescription will be fine”

“You’ve become ridiculously cheap these days, if I didn't know you this well I’d think you’ve grown a soft spot for me” 

“I’m trying to be less rude with cancer patients, it helps me ignore my sense of guilt. It’s not like you’re special” he says, grinning.

“And since when you do have a sense of guilt?” Wilson jokes.

“You wound me, Jimmy. I always had a sense of guilt, I just never listen to it”

Wilson barked out a laugh, followed by a bad cough “Right, my bad, sorry” he says, amused, then he whines in pain, adjusting on his seat.

“You okay, weirdo?” House asks, trying to hide his concern and failing.

“Oh yes. I’m fine. Nice. Amazing. Wonderful. I feel like a swallow the first day of spring. Like a kid the day school ends for summer break”

“I see you’re feeling good enough for sarcasm”

“I learned from the best”

House smiles, giving him a side look. “You flatter me”

“I didn’t say I was talking about you”

“What are we going to do?” House asks, out of the blue, and his friend tenses for a moment.

“Well, we can’t go back to Princeton-Plainsboro, of course. You’re supposed to be dead” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “I guess we have enough money for now, we can last a few years even with my treatment costs. Maybe if we can live humble enough we could last forever, who knows”

House’s eyes widen, and he clears uncomfortably his throat. “Uhm, well, about that…”

The sigh that comes from Wilson is the heaviest of the day. “What the hell did you do this time, Greg?”

“I may or may not have donated approximately half your possessions to charity”

“You did _what_?” he asks, almost yelling, then starts coughing again. House’s heart becomes two sizes smaller. He gets closer to help him breath, but the glare he receives makes him back off.

“Well you said I could do whatever I wanted with that” he says, defensively.

“I told you that because I wanted you to live with my money since you won’t be able to have a job again! You were supposed to withdraw all the cash and use it in the future! _After_!”

“I didn’t want your money! You were going to be dead, for fuck’s sake! Don’t be an idiot! I would have never used that!”

“You would’ve needed them! What were you supposed to do with no identity, no friends, no money? You would’ve had to survive somehow!” he croaks, trying to yell again but too tired to do so.

House looks at him again and they lock eyes for a moment. He tilts his head and shrugs slightly. His eyes are more clear than he ever lets them be. 

Wilson’s breath hitches.

“I would’ve needed no money, James. I know you know that”

“You don’t… you don’t mean that. You don’t mean what I’m thinking”

“I already made clear before that I need you”

“You’re crazy” 

“I don’t have to do that anymore, that’s a good thing”

“You can’t just tell me you were planning to die right after me and then everything it’s okay because it’s not going to happen!”

“You can’t just kiss me like a fourteen years old girl with her first crush and deflect, but here we are!”

“Fourteen yea- _hey_! Who is deflecting now?”

House shrugs. “Dunno, both of us?”

“I hate you”

“You don’t” 

“I wanted to do that for a while, you know. But I couldn’t bring myself to. I was scared at first, then I was dying and it wouldn’t have been fair to you. Not that you were minding apparently” he added, with his classic fake – nice – guy – who – is – secretly – an – asshole smile and a fire in his eyes that makes House’s heartbeat skip a beat every time.

“I wasn’t going to complain anyway I suppose, but I prefer the current turn of events”

“You _suppose_ ” Wilson laughs, and House puts his arm around his shoulders, pulls him closer and gives an unexpected kiss on his neck.

“What was that for, now?” 

“We’re not dying” 

“If we don’t starve to death because of your brilliant idea!”

“You’ll go to work and I’ll be your pretty housewife, then” he said, grinning.

“Yeah, a role that suits you perfectly” he says, rolling his eyes.

“The important thing here is that you’re getting better. I frankly don’t give a fuck about what’s going to happen next”

Wilson smiles and leans in, giving him a small peck on the lips, then looks at him with a huge, earnest smile. House’s heart melt for the billionth time in a row. 

Everything stops for him. He’s looking his long time bestfriend, shortly lover, in the eyes and all the aching fears of the past months are vanishing slowly.

He must have more of a lovestruck look on his face then intended because Wilson grins.

“Who would have predicted that the great Gregory House, medical genius, was such a sap?” Wilson asks, and House winks.

“Slow down with this genius bullshit Jimmy, I think I have a praise kink or something and trust me, we don't want me hard with you ill like that”

“Of course you have a praising kink” Wilson sighs helplessly, then stops. “Hey, did you just call our kiss _true love's kiss_?”

“Nah, probably thymoma has affected your ears, it happens sometimes”

“It does not, and you don't know shit about thymoma anyway”

House shrugs with an half smile and when they kiss again everything is good like it never was before.

**Author's Note:**

> I should write something else that takes place after all of this happens, to see these assholes trying to get along with life!  
> What do you think?


End file.
